


Singing In A Different Key

by Sanjuno



Series: Sanjuno's Shamelessly Self-Indulgent Self-Inserts [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Catelyn's paranoid about Jon, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow does not have time for for Southron bullshit, Jon Snow is an Author SI, Jon Snow is why the Others can't have nice things, Self-Insert, The Author Regrets Nothing, to be fair he really is out to get her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 22:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanjuno/pseuds/Sanjuno
Summary: The really sad part is that I didn't really enjoy the franchise once the first season ended. Still,somehowor another I ended up being reborn as Jon Snow aka Aegon Targaryen.A fact that I still thanked the old gods for every morning, because what limited knowledge of the series I retained was primarily focused on the Starks and the North.That being said, there were more than a few things I intended to change about Winterfell and it's inhabitantslongbefore Robert Baratheon hauled his hefty ass up here.(Or: Someone very similar to the Author gets metaphysically substituted for Jon Snow and proceeds to shamelessly use and abuse the modern understanding of mental health and psychology to manipulate the Starks into being significantly more stable as a family than canon allowed them to be. Becausefuckplaying things for drama, the Starks are going to learn to recognize the crazy people and staywell awayfrom them.)





	Singing In A Different Key

**Author's Note:**

> A completed prompt from my tumblr SI game, where I asked people to pick a theme/character/setting/AU. Now is it just me, or are these fills getting longer?
> 
> _Anon: Game of Thrones, Jon Snow just trolling everyone._

=/=

By the Old Gods, I really was _ridiculously_ pretty for a man. Staring at my reflection in my dressing table mirror, I tried to make an ugly face and only managed to look pouty. Ech. I was conventionally attractive in my life _before_ this one, but Ageon ‘Jon Snow’ Targaryen-Stark was _supernaturally_ good looking.

It was actually a little upsetting. I was aesthetically pleasing, yes, but not at all my own type. If I _had_ to be reborn as a man in this hope-forsaken hellworld, the least the old gods could have done is fashioned me a meatsuit that catered to my personal tastes.

I spared a wistful thought for the Mormonts, with their strong backs and lovely broad shoulders, before I dismissed the images with a resigned sigh. Nope, it was all dainty Targargyen features and the rangy leanness of the Starks for me.

Fuckers.

Grimacing one last time at my reflection, I tied back my hair and finished getting ready for the day. Stuck as I was in Winterfell and with no desire to draw unwanted attention, my ability to influence the events to come was limited to the Starks. Which was, in my humble opinion, _more_ than enough.

People always underestimated the Starks. It was baffling. In a feudal society like Westeros there was _nothing_ more dangerous than a loyal people with a loyal lord. In Robert’s Rebellion, _only_ the Northern forces had answered in full when the Banners were called to Arms.

The North answered without hesitation when the Stark in Winterfell called for them. The King in the North, and the North remembered it. A King uncrowned, a King untitled, but a true King nevertheless. Torrhen Stark may have bent his knee… but he _had not_ bared his throat.

Winterfell was a fortress of ice, untouched by sun or flame. I knew there were weaknesses, cracks in the foundation left behind by the wildfires of Robert’s Rebellion. If left alone those fissures they would bring destruction, like melt-water under snowcaps just waiting to bring half a mountain down on unsuspecting heads.

Good thing I was a manipulative little shit, and I knew exactly how to start doing away with those weaknesses. In this case I needed to start at the top.

No one had done quite as much damage to the Stark’s good fortunes as Catelyn Tully, and so the Lady Stark’s attitude would need a little… adjustment. Which I was _more_ than willing to do now that Rickon was safely born. If she went nuts again and needed to be removed I still had a full complement of Stark Wargs to advise and influence for the sake of preserving all life on the planet.

Wishywashy fishwives, blech. The only useful thing she ever managed to do was make more Starks. After living with her prejudiced, thoughtless cruelty for thirteen years I was more than ready to break her inflexible little mind in half. Which was my plan for today. Best get a move on that.

I grinned at my reflection in the mirror, knowing I was dressed no differently than the rest of the Stark children and loving how much it pissed my dear Auntie off. There was no chance of Catelyn letting me speak with Father without listening in. Perfect.

Now if only my resting bitch face would start being intimidating again instead of sullen, that would be just grand. Stupid pretty boy face.

/…/

“Your nameday is coming up.” Robb mentioned, just as he had every day for the last handful. My dear Auntie’s glare burned against my back as she lurked and waited for me to turn on Robb. Old Gods, but that woman’s blind prejudice was annoying. “Do you know what you’re going to ask Father for?”

“I think… I’d like to know who my mother was. And why Father chose to raise me here instead of leaving me with her.” Carefully not looking over my shoulder at where I knew the Lady Stark was spying on interactions, I made sure to keep my voice thoughtful. “I’m almost a man grown. I think I’m old enough to understand if it… if it was something terrible.”

“Oh…” The future lord of Winterfell looked thoughtful, and nodded his head as he clapped a hand to my shoulder. “If anyone deserves to know it’s you, brother.”

“Well, one can hope.” With a chuckle, I shook my head. “Now come on, Robb. Let’s finish putting this away.”

“Aye.” Sighing as he looked at how much was left to take care of, Robb grumbled but set too willingly enough. “Can’t leave a job half done.”

“T’would be unfitting of a son of House Stark.” I agreed with just enough mockery in my tone to make Robb laugh and the Lady Stark bristle. Honestly, the woman was so easy to rile up. It was actually a bit sad.

/…/

“Father, _please_.” I may have arranged for Lady Stark to follow me into the Godswood today when I went to confront Ned Stark about my true origins, but it still bothered me to know that she was lurking while I asked my father for honesty. Stupid bint. My irritation made my voice crack with suppressed emotion. “Please, I deserve to know. If it’s a secret you’re keeping to preserve a Lady’s honour, I swear by the Old God’s I won’t speak of it! I just wish to know her _name_. Please.”

“I swore to your mother to keep you safe, Jon. You are my blood.” Ned Stark was a quiet man, but he had enough determination to grind mountains to dust. A brilliant attribute when you needed to ration supplies through a decade long winter. Not so endearing when trying to get him to speak of something he wished to keep secret. “That is enough for me. Let that be the end of it.”

“Fine then, if you won’t tell me my mother’s name… then tell me my father’s!” The blood drained out of my father’s face, and guilt rose in my chest. I forged onwards anyway, because this needed doing if we were going to survive the Long Night without worrying about knives in our backs. “People talk about me, and I hear it all the time. ‘The Honorable Ned Stark’s only sin’, they call me. But they don’t know you, Father. Not like I do. Not enough to know that… that you _wouldn’t_. Not after you wed, not after you swore an oath. Even if Lady Stark was _supposed _to be your elder brother’s wife… you would never dishonour her that way.”

Father’s grip on the Heart Tree’s bark was desperate as his eyes searched my face. I swallowed, hating the pain I saw in his eyes. “I don’t… It matters not who sired me, not truly. _You_ are my father in all the ways that count, and aye, your blood is in my veins, but… it was Lord Brandon who sired me, wasn’t it. With Lady Ashara Dayne. If I had been a girl… you could have left me there, let me be a Sand. But I was a boy, and the only son of Rickard Stark’s eldest son. That’s why everyone says Lady Ashara’s _daughter_ was stillborn. It was a misdirection to cover your tracks, because Lord Brandon’s son, even a bastard one, could have a stronger claim than your sons and-”

“Stop. Jon, please. That’s enough. That is… that is more than enough.” Strong, sword calloused hands gripped my shoulders, and stern grey eyes held mine for a long moment before my father’s expression softened. “I can see now, how much this has troubled you. You’ve never liked the thought of causing problems for Robb, and I can well believe that you would draw the worst possible conclusion… Aye, I suppose there’s nothing for it now. Especially not with that sort of rumour taking root…”

I forced my jaw to relax and my breathing to steady. “Father?”

“Your mother was not Ashara Dayne, Jon. And your father was not my brother. Would that… would that they _had_ been your parents. Perhaps this would be a simpler thing to speak of.” Old, deep pain etched lines in my father’s face, and for a horrible moment I imagined it. Of being the only one still remaining of my siblings. Of Robb slain by treachery, Sansa stolen away by our enemies, Arya and Bran losing themselves to vengeance and madness, Rickon’s memories of us fading away until he forgot us entirely… Father closed his eyes, seeming to gather his strength before he could look me in the eye again. “You will always be my son, Jon. My blood is in your veins, Jon. As is… as is the blood of my sister, Lyanna.”

I had been hoping for it, expecting it even, but still _hearing him say it_ made my breath catch like I had just been hit. There in front of the Heart Tree, with the truth ringing in my ears, all I could manage to do was blink. “But… that would make my father… but I don’t _want_ to be a Targaryen! I want to be a Stark! Father, don’t tell anyone else!”

Sputtering a relieved laugh my father shook me gently until I stopped whining, and then he pulled me into an embrace. “I promise, Jon. No one else will ever know.”

“Mm… maybe… uh, maybe _one_ other person.” I felt my father stiffen, and I firmly kept my face pressed into the fur of his collar. “Maybe… I think it would be okay for you to tell Lady Stark? Maybe then she’ll agree to have a proper marriage ceremony.”

“Jon, I… I know Cat hasn’t always been kind to you. Are you sure you wish for her to know?” Father pushed me back so he could see my face. I pouted shamelessly, because proper hugs were stupidly scarce in this machismo-laden hellscape. “Don’t… don’t say yes only because you want to make things easier for me, Jon. I can handle an argument with my wife.”

“But you want to get married in front of the Heart Tree.” I pointed out sullenly, keeping my eyes firmly on my father’s chin. “And you can’t do that while you keep secrets from her.”

“It’s been three and ten years, Jon.” Father sighed, clear longing in his words even as he pushed his own wants aside for the sake of his duty. “If she were willing to truly join the North she would have said something to me by now.”

Oh, that comment was going to _burn_. I know my dear eavesdropping Auntie has never felt welcome in the North, and now she knows _why_. This is delicious and I love it.

“Tell her anyway, Father.” Meeting those grey eyes again, I offered up a wry smile. “Perhaps this will be enough for her to make that offer. Perhaps it will calm her fears about me hurting Robb. Perhaps she will simply continue to ignore the fact that I exist until she cannot avoid it any longer. Regardless of the outcome, she at least deserves to know that you have never broken your oaths to her. She deserves to know that another oath bound you to silence, for all our sakes.”

“You are a good boy, Jon.” Father smiled, embracing me again as he kissed my hair. “Never forget that kindness. It is a great gift.”

“I won’t, Father.” I smiled back and leaned into the strength of the only father I would ever acknowledge. “After all, I have you to show me what to do.”

/…/

The next morning, I could see that Father had spoken to his wife. The way she looked at me… Catelyn was ashamed of herself. Was writhing in guilt of her own making like a worm on a hook. Doubtless she was remembering the promise she had made to her Seven Gods, the promise she had broken so very quickly when she learned that I had lived through my fever.

This was no less than she deserved.

I took my seat at the head table without sparing her more than a glance. Catelyn’s eyes were reddened and heavy from a night of weeping. For once, there was no transparent attempt to have me sit elsewhere, removed from my family. Sansa wrinkled her nose at me, only having recently learned what the word ‘bastard’ meant, thanks to the Southron influences in her life.

Robb and Theon glanced at Lady Stark, but did not hesitate to draw me into their morning conversation once I was seated.

“So.” Robb kept his voice quiet enough not to be heard beyond our small huddle. “Did you get the nameday gift you wanted?”

“I did.” Inclining my head, I answered just as quietly. “It’s like we thought. She’s dead, but Father’s still trying to protect her memory.”

“But he gave you a name?” Theon questioned, sharp eyes scanning slowly over the hall for listening ears.

“He did. I asked him to tell Lady Stark.” I shrugged when they both looked at me strangely. “Perhaps now she will stop fretting over it. It would be nice not to be accused of causing everything that inconveniences her.”

“Aye, that’s clever.” Grinning, Theon bumped his shoulder into mine as he pulled his plate closer. “And now she owes you a debt, too.”

“Let’s not bring attention to that, shall we?” I smacked Theon’s fingers with the back of my knife before he could steal my bread. “That’s my breakfast, Greyjoy. Get your own.”

“But it tastes better when it’s stolen!” Laughing as he protested, Theon held his hands up in surrender when I pointed my knife at him. “I yield, I yield. Your food is safe, Snow.”

“Now there’s a lie if I ever heard one.” Robb snorted, curling his arm around his plate when Theon turned to him with a wounded expression. “You’re a shameless food sneak, Theon. The cooks are all out for vengeance over missing platters.”

With a disdainful sniff, Theon turned back to his own plate. “I’m a growing man.”

“You’re a bottomless pit, is what you are.” I eyed the Ironborn boy up and down. “How are you this weedy if all you do is eat?”

“You’re one to talk.” Robb snickered, the smug little shit. One day he would actually reach an awkward growth stage and I was going to laugh _so hard_. “You’re barely bigger than the girls, Snow.”

The was a scraping noise as Father stood up and cleared his throat, drawing every eye in the hall and cutting off my retort. Robb was going to get his ass kicked for that comment later during our arms practice. For now, I held my tongue and paid attention as Father raised his hand for silence.

“I have two announcements to make this morning.” Father turned and smiled at his wife, placing a hand on the back of her chair. “To celebrate the anniversary of King Robert’s coronation, my Lady Wife and I shall be renewing our vows in the Godswood. The invitations to our bannermen Houses shall be sent later today.”

A cheer shook the rafters. I laughed and clapped my hands, vastly entertained by the dumbstruck look on Catelyn’s face as the Northern people applauded. This was the first step to her gaining full acceptance, and I planned to keep that momentum going.

“Second.” Father continued once the ruckus had died down. “With the blessings and council of my Lady Wife, I have written to King Robert asking for the granting of legitimacy to my natural born son. Once it is official, Jon Stark will be named the future lord of Moat Cailin and tasked with its restoration.”

Robb and Theon whooped, pounding me on the back as I gaped at my father. Arya shrieked in glee and lunged across the table to throw her arms around my neck. Bran was a bit more retrained, in that he did not leave his chair, but he was cheering loudest of all. Even Sansa was smiling, even if it looked a bit stiff with confusion. Baby Rickon had no idea what was going on but he still added his voice to the mess.

Holy shit yes. My plans were _working_. Theon actually had manners, Father had told the truth about my birth, Lady Stark had gotten a reality check, and _I had actually been legitimized_…

Fucking right, I was going to Machiavelli the _hell_ out of the Seven Kingdoms. Next up, convincing Father to have Arya fostered with the Mormonts, or at least have her tutored as a shieldmaiden by one, and then I was going to get Sansa someone she could have an actual intelligent conversation with.

Yes, excellent. This pleases me.

=/=

**Author's Note:**

> Jon Snow with my personality is like, a _stealth_ troll and I find that hilarious. XD


End file.
